


Never Quite As It Seems

by callmeKikiCat



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Book 3: The King of Attolia (Queen's Thief), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30063741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeKikiCat/pseuds/callmeKikiCat
Summary: The King and Queen of Attolia are newlyweds and sometimes they act like it.
Relationships: Attolia | Irene/Eugenides
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Never Quite As It Seems

**Author's Note:**

> This is just my all-time favorite couple being adorable and obsessed with each other. I love them.
> 
> Title from “Dreams” by The Cranberries. Just listen to it and tell me it’s not Irene in KoA. I dare you.

For as long as she could remember, Irene had known that her life was not her own. As a minor princess of Attolia, her value lay in being married as her father saw fit, to cement an alliance or secure a political advantage. Girlish dreams of love were the stuff of fireside stories and had no place in the real world of political intrigue that was the court of Attolia. 

Later, when she became queen in her own right, she had paradoxically more freedom, yet also less. While her choices were now her own, she felt herself constrained by the need to act for the good of Attolia the country, not Irene the woman. 

She held her country together by the sheer force of her will, and she was unwilling to see it torn apart after her death, and so she knew she must eventually marry and produce an heir. In that, as in all things, she would do as duty demanded. No matter how unpleasant the ordeal was certain to be, it wouldn’t be the first or even the worst sacrifice she had made for her country. She fervently prayed that this eventual heir would be a son, and not an unfortunate princess like herself. 

Such were the bitter thoughts that Attolia did not allow herself to dwell on. She had determined that the next King of Attolia would be her choice and no one else’s, but there was simply no good option. She would not see her country fall under the power of a foreign ruler, yet she risked civil war if she favored one of her barons over the others.

Attolia was under no illusion that any man would want her for herself; her desirability lay in the wealth and power that she would bring him. She certainly knew no one would love her for her personality—and she told herself she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let anyone close enough to know the real Irene. She wasn’t even sure there was such a person anymore. 

Then the gods had stuck their meddling hands into her life and she found herself in a marriage that was both politically advantageous and personally agreeable, and it somehow seemed like it was all too much to make sense of. Maybe one day she would not wake every morning thinking it was all a dream, but one month after her wedding that morning still had not come. 

Nobody quite knew what to make of her marriage, least of all Irene. She knew her people believed it was only the fear of the occupying Eddisian army that kept her from poisoning her second husband as she had the first. They were convinced that Eugenides was an idiot, and that she tolerated him for the moment, but that there was no true affection between them. The irony of it all was that it was he who insisted on maintaining the facade of distance between them. For her part, Attolia found herself head over heels in love and she didn’t care who knew it. But she had agreed to play this game his way—for now.

Such were the thoughts drifting through Attolia’s mind as she sat on a terrace overlooking the sea on a beautiful summer morning. The day promised to be a warm one, but the brisk breeze blowing in off the water would help keep it comfortable throughout the breakfast hour. As usual, Eugenides was nowhere to be seen when she arrived with her attendants. She was hungry, but showed no sign of impatience or annoyance. Irene prided herself on her ability to hide her thoughts and feelings. No one ever knew what was going on behind her impassive gaze unless she wanted them to know it. Except Eugenides, of course. He had the ability to see right through her. At times she still wondered uneasily if the gods were to blame for that as well.

There was a sudden commotion, and Eugenides arrived as though her thoughts had summoned him. His damp hair curled slightly above his collar, and he beamed at her as he approached. Her heart skipped a beat, and she forgot to breathe for an instant. Gods, she loved him so much it hurt, and only years of self-control kept her in her seat, her face impassive. 

“A beautiful morning!” he proclaimed, gazing out at the sun sparkling on the waves. “My dear,” he took her hand and kissed it theatrically before settling into his chair. “But of course your beauty rivals the sun itself.” He was acting completely ridiculous. That didn’t keep her from shivering at his touch as his lips brushed her fingers. “I trust you slept well?” he said blandly as he perused the assorted pastries, cheeses and fruits before settling on an apricot and taking a bite.

“Quite well, thank you,” she replied, equally coolly. 

Every morning this little charade played out. As if he hadn’t slipped from between her sheets not two hours before. She didn’t know how he kept it up sometimes, but he was very, very good at misdirection. They were surrounded by people—her attendants, his attendants, the servants, the guards stationed at each corner of the terrace—and none of them had the slightest suspicion that the king and queen were not the polite strangers they pretended to be. It was oddly exhilarating. 

Taking a sip of her coffee, Irene looked out over the water below. The wind had picked up, and she turned to catch the attention of Phresine, her senior attendant. Understanding what was required, Phresine beckoned to one of the younger attendants, who hurried forward to bring the queen a shawl. Wrapping it around her shoulders, Irene turned back to the table where Eugenides was now devouring a pastry. Honestly, she had never seen someone who could eat like her husband. Eat, and—she stared, transfixed, as Eugenides licked honey from his fingers. 

Irene knew it was her duty to produce an heir for Attolia. She just hadn’t expected to enjoy the process. And enjoyment was perhaps too mild a word for the dizzying pleasures of the nights spent tangled in one another’s arms. What they might have lacked in experience, they made up in enthusiasm, and their stolen moments together were filled with a hot, intoxicating sweetness that both found utterly addictive.

Eugenides continued to make short work of his breakfast, rambling on about some nonsensical thing, and all she could think about was running her fingers through his curls, licking her way down his body until he gasped and clutched at her, the balmy breezes of Attolian summer nights blowing the curtains and cooling their sweat-slicked bodies, the rasp of his beard stubble on her inner thigh as he...Irene’s eyes drifted shut as she lost herself in happy memories.

Eugenides was waving another pastry around, gesturing to a sailboat in the harbor, as he turned to address the attendant standing behind him. “Did you know I proposed to my wife on a boat? It was wildly romantic. She’s completely enamored of me, you know.” The attendant stared at him contemptuously. “Enamored,” he repeated as if he liked the sound of the word. Chuckling, he turned back to the table and picked up his cup to take a swallow of his coffee. 

Glancing up at Irene, his eyes full of mischief, Eugenides choked on his drink. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated, and as he watched she licked her lips, bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. Gods, she looked like she was about to...he choked again, gasping for breath and trying to think of anything, anything, but the overwhelming desire to sweep the breakfast dishes off the table and make love to his wife on its surface. 

His thoughts circled aimlessly as he tried desperately to remember why that wasn’t a good idea. Completely unable to think of a single reason, but at the same time certain that there was one, Eugenides sat paralyzed until rescue came in the unlikely form of his attendant. “Your Majesty, are you...unwell?” Thrusting himself to his feet, he said in a tone of annoyance, “Indeed, I am not feeling at all well. I think I shall go back to bed.” And with one last desperate glance at his wife he turned and practically ran inside, his confused and disgruntled attendants milling around uncertainly and finally taking off in a futile pursuit of their ever-more moronic king. 

Irene’s eyes had snapped open and they widened as her gaze locked with her husband’s. The seconds seemed to stretch into eternity—and then he was gone. Irene remained seated, unsure of what had just happened and wondering with intense mortification how many people had just witnessed their queen drooling over her new husband. Wiping her face clear of all expression, she dared a quick glance around. 

To her surprise, no one seemed to be paying her any attention at all. Most of her attendants were still looking in the direction of the king’s departure with expressions ranging from bafflement to disdain, while the guardsmen, more disciplined, at least pretended not to notice anything amiss. 

Irene sat staring into space, her thoughts still muddled, then abruptly found herself on her feet. Everyone snapped to attention. She blinked, suddenly unsure of herself. 

“Your Majesty,” Phresine murmured next to her. “Perhaps you should check on His Majesty?”

“Yes.” Irene said gratefully. “Phresine...” she glanced at the older woman.

“Certainly, Your Majesty, I will make sure no one disturbs you.” 

“Thank you, Phresine.” She turned to go, but hesitated once more.

“Your Majesty,” the attendant’s gaze was direct and affectionate. “People see only what they want to see. Go, and don’t give them another thought.”

Irene relaxed, and a rare smile lit her face for a moment. “Thank you,” she said again, and she strode briskly but decorously toward the palace, her mind already returning to fond thoughts of her husband. Two of the guards followed at a respectful distance. Gathering up the younger attendants, Phresine directed them to be about their duties, then she also followed after the queen. 

Palace servants arrived and cleared the table quickly and efficiently, and then the terrace was empty except for two remaining guards. The taller one glanced toward his comrade and blew out a breath. 

“I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about our so-called king much longer. Did you see the way she looked at him? Could’ve boiled lead. She hates him, no doubt about that. No, I for one wouldn’t want to be in the Thief’s shoes right now,” he stated, glancing in the direction the queen had gone. He shuddered slightly. “Poor bastard. I could almost pity him, but he brought it on himself, didn’t he?” 

The other guard grunted in agreement, and the two went inside, leaving the terrace once again deserted, and if laughter floated from the windows of the royal apartments high above—well, there was no one there to hear it.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the extremely talented @storieswelove for all the help and encouragement!


End file.
